


Our First Drink

by Light7



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Internal Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Light7/pseuds/Light7
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up after drinking with Crowley for the first time.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Our First Drink

Aziraphale was Not Panicking.

He was deliberately Not Panicking.

In fact, it relaxed him, calm and in control. The angel stopped his flustered pacing and sat down carefully, leaning back into the chair and all but forcing his tense muscles to relax. He closed his eyes and focused on taking deep, steady breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose… it didn’t help, it made it worse as now he could smell the source of his concern.

Demons did not smell like brimstone. At least Crowley didn’t. He smelt faintly of soap and of the wine they’d been drinking earlier, and ever so slightly like a person, warm and alive. Aziraphale shook his head to stop his mind wondering and refocus himself on the problem.

“What possessed you?” Aziraphale muttered to himself, absently trying to straighten his toga. He normally rather liked toga’s but right now he hated it, it didn’t cover enough of his skin, exposing far too much; it was an irritating distraction from the problem at hand. That problem being the unconscious demon snoozing on his lounger.  
He’d gotten drunk with a demon.

An actual demon, a sworn enemy and he’d let his guard down so much that he’d only woken up a few minutes ago, with his arse on the floor and back against the lounger, one of the snoring demon’s hand resting gently on the bare skin of his chest. If it had been any other demon but Crowley, Aziraphale contained a shiver at the thought. He would have woken up discorporate, no doubt with a very irate Gabriel glaring at him.

But Crowley hadn’t used his vulnerability to attack him, and honestly, Aziraphale wasn’t surprised.

Crowley was different. Crowley, with his ridiculous walk and funny, thoughtful little habits, wasn’t like the other demons. Aziraphale watched the demon sleep and couldn’t help the small swell of warmth in his chest and the smile on his face. The bloody ridiculous creature was passed out on his front, drooling into the soft furnishing on the lounger, hair a disaster.

Crowley was his friend.

Aziraphale sprung back up to his feet at that thought and started pacing vigorously again. Demons and angels cannot be friends. It’s out of the question and it was utterly ridiculous of him to have any kind of soft feelings towards his enemy and to let himself get into such a vulnerable position, regardless of how thoughtful the creature could be.  
An abrupt rise in the volume of Crowley’s snoring stopped the angels pacing abruptly, Aziraphale watched as Crowley shuffled and settled, all the while fighting to hold on to the feeling of panic which was being overwhelmed by the earlier feeling of warmth at the dozing demons fidgeting. Aziraphale returned to his seat.

“At least I’m not the only fool,” he said to the sleeping Crowley. “You’re even worse than I am. Letting yourself be so vulnerable with me here. I could do anything.”

He realized then just how much power he had in this moment. When awake Crowley was fast, having kept much of his serpent-like mannerisms and habit for abrupt and explosive movement, harming him would be difficult. But he was defenseless. Aziraphale rose again and walked across the brief space to the lounger. Standing over the sleeping demon, he snorted.

“You utter fool,” he said and slumped to his knees, fingers burring themselves in Crowley’s hair. “You complete and utter fool.”

Aziraphale knew he should attack the demon, but he also knew he wasn’t going to. He was an angel, angels smite demons, it’s part of the job description. Any other angel who happened upon a sleeping demon wouldn’t hesitate to get their smite on. But Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Even attempting to fight Crowley turned his stomach, let alone hurt him while he was so defenseless. He was a rubbish angel. He had suspected it for a time now, what with how prone he was to materialistic vice, but now it was all but confirmed. Here he was with a defenseless demon and instead of rightly smiting it, he was petting it, absently trying to sort out the mess of its hair.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Aziraphale said, trying to pull himself out of his self-pitying spiral. “I hope you don’t just pass out where anyone can come across you. How have you survived this long?” he swallowed the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat. “I suppose you wouldn’t survive if you did things like that, which means you probably don’t, which means I’m the only one you do this with.” he snorted, unable to stop the amusement escaping. “I may be a rubbish angel, but you are a shite demon.” Oddly, that thought made him feel a little better.

Aziraphale and Crowley versus everything and everyone else. A team all their own.

Aziraphale shook his head at the impossible thought, it could never come to be and Aziraphale knew that, knew that all too well. He was an angel, perhaps not the best angel, but he was not about to fall soon, or ever if it could be helped. Crowley was a demon, a mischievous creature as opposed to an out and out evil one, but even so a demon was a demon. They shouldn’t even be talking with each other, let alone getting drunk together. He needed to put a stop to this before it became something too difficult to break off. He had to stop it now, right now. 

“Ughhhh,” the sound announced Crowley’s return to the land of the awake and hungover. Aziraphale snapped upright, back on his feet and back peddled rapidly until the backs of his legs hit the chair and he fell into it. Crowley blinked yellow eyes at him and snorted. “Graceful.”

“Good… Good morning,” Aziraphale managed, once again trying to straighten his toga.

“Ugh,” Crowley muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position. The demon looked a wreck, clothes rumpled, hair a mess and an imprint of the longer on his left cheek. “Why did you do that to me?” Aziraphale felt himself turn bright red, thinking Crowley must refer to his uninvited touch a moment ago.

“Well, I… um…” he spluttered.

“How could you let me drink that much?” Crowley leaned forward, gripping the side of his head.

“How could I!” Aziraphale blustered. “It was you who kept yelling for more wine, the barman was your best friend.”

“He’s not my best friend,” Crowley staggered to his feet, his mutterings trailing off into unintelligible grumblings for a moment. “I think I’ll head to the baths, want to come?”

“I shouldn’t…” Aziraphale started watching as Crowley wobbled in place. The damned creature was going to fall over any second. Without a chaperone, he was liable to end up upside-down in a ditch somewhere. With a sigh, Aziraphale picked up the demons’ glasses and settled them on Crowley’s nose. “Come on, I suppose we could both do with a wash.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review, I’d love to hear what you think of the chapter.  
> For information on published works and upcoming projects, release dates, as well as weekly blogs, check out [my website](https://katiemarie21.wordpress.com)


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